


A Priori

by Lesca Fenix (lescafenix)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: M/M, Regeneration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1627028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lescafenix/pseuds/Lesca%20Fenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his regeneration impending, the Fourth Doctor looks back on the beginnings of his relationship with the Master, and how it brought them to this place.  A Priori means "from what comes before."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Priori

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brightbear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightbear/gifts).



It was a funny thing, regeneration. Different regenerations could have completely different takes on the exact same situation. It was a matter of fact for Time Lords, and much like puberty, or losing one's virginity, or any other rite of passage that comes with age, it was something that one had to experience to truly appreciate.

This fact had been on the Doctor's mind since they had first come to Logopolis in search of repairs for the TARDIS. He had sensed the hovering presence of the Watcher even as they had left Traken, and it was important for him to have things prepared and in order, as it was a harbinger for him that things were drawing to a close for this version of himself. As such, he found himself mentally taking stock of how this particular regeneration had lived and viewed the world, even as he raced to stop the Master's interference from destroying the universe.

That thought evoked an internal chuckle from the Doctor as he dashed across the grounds of the Pharos project, the Master hovering keenly in his consciousness as he and Tegan followed. As they crouched behind a building, the Doctor could feel the heat radiating from the Master's stolen body, and his muddled thoughts were suddenly clearly focused on a memory from his time at the Academy. Although his form and name had changed, the Master's body still radiated the same heat and energy as it had so many centuries ago. They both had looked much different then, and for the Doctor, regeneration had been a thing to look forward to in the far-distant future.

He had not been called the Master at that time, just as the Doctor had not taken on his moniker either. The Master was a professor at the Academy, his skin pale, his hair sandy, and his eyes dark and intense. He and the Doctor, who had been a student at the time, would often stroll in the gardens among the elaborate statues and sculptures and speak of Gallifreyan politics, of the lessons, and of other, further-reaching, topics. Although at the time his own hair had been straight and black--well before it had gone white--the Doctor could not help but see the conversation that often was rehashed in his own mind with the Master's stolen form in place of that mischievous towheaded young man, and his own form in place of the one of his youth.

"Borusa knows. He's had his eye on you for some time, and me as well," the Master had said on that particular day, the hot wind tousling his hair as they sat close together on the pedestal of one of the countless tributes to Rassilon. "He keeps me close so he can keep an eye on me."

"Well, we're two of a kind then, I suppose," the Doctor had chuckled.

"Yes, both with aspirations far beyond the Academy's scope, I dare say," the Master had replied. "At least I can say so for myself." He leaned forward and gazed at the younger man intently, his body so close that the Doctor had felt his skin crawl with the intensity of emotion that he could not put words to. He turned his face away, although he could still feel the energy pulsing close in his personal space, and the hot caress of breath on his neck as the Master whispered, "And what about you?"

"I don't know," the Doctor had replied carefully, still turned away. "I want to make a difference. Perhaps save the universe, somehow."

"Save the universe?" the Master had laughed, sitting back on his hands and looking up at the sky. He then looked over again, with a wide grin, and raised an eyebrow. "You'll need to have someone to save it from, first."

The Doctor had looked back at him over his shoulder. "Do you have someone in mind?"

The Master had just laughed in response, then jumped off of the pedestal and walked off toward the edge of the grounds, hands in his pockets. The Doctor had simply watched him go.

One thing that had never changed about the Master, no matter what his name, no matter what his form was his laugh. It always had a twinge of madness to it, and as he had sat in the gathering darkness and wondered what good an education at the Academy would really do for someone with dreams like his, the Doctor could not let go of the idea that at some time down the road, somehow it would truly come down to the two of them and control of the universe.

As the centuries passed, that idea had begun to not seem like such a far-fetched conclusion, all things considered. Each time the Doctor had encountered the Master in his previous regenerations, he had cursed himself for letting him walk away that day at the Academy, not realizing that in addition to all of the philosophical rhetoric he had spouted and ideas about changing Gallifreyan society they had shared, the Master had plans for his own personal gain that were quite concrete--plans that were being put into motion long before the Doctor had stolen the TARDIS and embarked on his own journey. Encounter after encounter, the Doctor had fought to prevent the Master from gaining more power and actually achieving those long-festering aspirations.

Then, after his third regeneration, his perspectives on the memory of that conversation had changed from chagrin and self-blame to regret that he had not tried to find out more about his professor's ideas, perhaps to try to talk him out of them, or even understand them. At times, the Doctor had even wondered if perhaps he and the Master were quite alike after all, still just rogues at heart. After all: it was a fun proposition, taking over the universe, but really, what would one do with the whole universe?

The Doctor realized that this line of thought and his constant cynicism toward and pushing away of the companions that had a habit of stumbling upon him and joining him had only served to strengthen the hold of what was only a memory--a refracted perspective of one at that--and make him more vulnerable than ever to the Master's manipulations. Only when events turned lethal on Traken had the Doctor finally begun to come to grips with what his previous incarnations had taken for granted: the Master was playing no schoolboy game of Capture the Universe.

Still, the memory of hot breath on his neck and the passion and zeal of a brilliant mind eager for change in the staid society made his will falter, and he gave his trust yet once more, although with great misgivings and dramatic warnings to his clueless companions. If they were so alike, the Doctor felt he could handle the Master, and keep him at a disadvantage, regardless. Yet again, however, the Doctor underestimated the ambitions and the depth of planning of the man he had once considered a friend. The Master was now within reach of fulfilling his ambition. It was now up to the Doctor to fulfill his.

The time had now come; no more games, no more vulnerability. It was time to let go, and let the past be as it was, something this regeneration had such difficulty in doing. As the ground raced closer, the Doctor made the vow that next time, he would place his trust in the ones that stood by him, rather than the one that he had once thought to be a kindred spirit; one he so desperately wanted to save from himself. It was truly too late for the man who was now The Master, and as the pain of impact melted into the numbness of oncoming regeneration, the Doctor hoped that his next self would actually believe it.


End file.
